Assortments
by Limelight
Summary: A collection of vignettes that will focus on but not always involve Han and Leia. Will contain many different couples. Seventh Installment: Trap
1. Ma'am

**So, this shall be a collection of vignettes about Star Wars characters that are not Han and Leia, although they will probably appear in a few (I just can't stay away). **

**Disclaimer: George's. Always George's. **

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**So, a reviewer over at TNQLL named nikki commented that Janson and Mon Mothma would make a great couple. I blame her for this plot bunny, which bit and just wouldn't let go.**

**Basically, I stuck Mon Mothma and Janson in a turbo-lift together. They were far more serious than I had anticipated. **

**Enjoy. Or something to that effect. **

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**Ma'am**

"Hold the door," she says. He does so, and when she steps onto the turbo-lift she almost looks as though she regrets the request.

"Janson," she says curtly.

"Ma'am." She can hear him grin behind her as she turns to face the doors. They ride in silence, until-

"Why the Supreme?"

She doesn't even bother to turn. "What."

"Why _Supreme _Commander?"

This time she turns. "Because it's a military rank, Janson."

"But why the Supreme? Why not just Commander? You know, people might think you're a bit conceited if you-"

"Janson!"

"Yes ma'am?"

"Shut-up." She turns back to the doors and damns all Alliance lifts and their lack of anything akin to speed.

He obeys for half a second before-

"What if this thing falls?"

"Excuse me?"

"What if this thing falls and we die? Just think; the Alliance's leader and most promising pilot gone in one fell swoop. Bet the Emperor'd pay money."

"Oh yes, Palapatine's probably willing the failure of Alliance lifts as we speak."

"It'd be a tragic end, you know."

"I'm sure."

There is a beat, in which she smoothes down her hair. She hears him shift his weight behind her and-

"You should grow it out."

She turns full around to face him, to check for different sized pupils. For something.

"Yeah," he says thoughtfully. "It'd suit your face shape better if you grew it out."

"Planning to go into the hair business, Janson?"

"No ma'am."

She touches her hair. "It would be highly impractical to have long hair."

"Great shame."

"Oh yes," she turns back to the doors. "Galaxies everywhere are committing mass genocide of beings possessing short hair."

"You know, if you grow it out you'd having better looking wanted posters."

She doesn't bother to answer. As the lift creaks toward the ground, the term 'hell in a hand basket' takes on a whole new meaning.

"So… ever been ravished in a turbo-lift?" She spins to find him grinning at her. The turbo lift beeps, and the doors slide open behind her.

He slips by her and tosses a "G'night, ma'am" over his shoulder. And she is left to touch her hair with suddenly burning hands, and walk slowly off the lift. And she is reminded that she wasn't always a soldier.

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**Well? **


	2. The Plan As It Stood

**Yes. I really love the Rogue Squadron all too much. And supposedly Hobs dies in the battle of Hoth (I'm debating whether or not to let him live in TNQLL), so… this drabble was born.**

**You see, Luke and Dack were so gung-ho about the battle… it really annoyed the heck out of me. I thought that my boys would better understand the gravity of the situation. And, plus, I wanted to give Hobbie some last words.**

**Anyways, have fun.**

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**The Plan As It Stood**

The pilots run to their subjective aircrafts. The alarms are sounding; the true anthem of the Alliance.

The Rogue Squadron assembles, running frantic last minute checks, calls of 'good luck' echoing through the hanger bay over their heads. Their commander climbs into his fighter, and they can just makes out the words of his gunner before the hatch is closed.

'I feel as though I could take on the entire Empire.'

Over the din, Janson shouts:

'Hey Hobbie, why d'ya reckon we're doing this?'

Hobbie climbs into his fighter. 'What? Doing what?'

'The war.'

'Oh. Well, supposedly, if you win, they hand you the deed to the galaxy and you can make everything right again.'

Hobbie closes the hatch of the fighter. Through it he can seen Janson's jumpsuit, in sharp relief against the snow. And Hobbie thinks, _It's a beautiful day for flying._

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**Well?**


	3. On the Subject of Smiles

**Alright, I have been proved wrong. Hobbie does not die in ESB. He shall live in TNQLL, and please consider The Plan as it Stood an AU.**

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**Okay, it's official: I love Janson and Mon Mothma together. And plus, they make for great dialogue. **

**So… I don't even know where this piece came from. I have no excuses. It just, I don't know, popped out of the air. Its fluff, but oh well.**

**Enjoy it.**

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**On The Subject of Smiles**

The Supreme Commander and Pilot Wes Janson are sitting across from each other at a standard issue Alliance table. The Supreme Commander finishes reading the transcript in front of her, and sighs.

"Janson, give me one good reason why you turned General Dodonna's hair blue?"

"Actually ma'am," Janson says, "it wasn't technically supposed to turn blue. The package said deep violet."

Mon Mothma breathes deeply through her nose and closes her eyes. She opens them to find him grinning at her.

"Fine. Why did you attempt to turn General Dodonna's hair a _deep violet_?"

Janson, sits up straighter in his chair and collects himself, as if to begin a story. "Well, you see, ma'am, I had a very troubled childhood-"

"Involving purple hair?" She raises an eyebrow. Janson simply stares at her. "Well?" she prompts.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought that was a rhetorical question." She buries her head in her hands, and thinks that he may actually drive her to suicide. Either suicide or homicide.

Through her fingers, she asks, "Janson, can't you ever be serious?" He pauses, and she snaps, "No, that wasn't rhetorical."

"Well, ma'am," he looks thoughtful. "I don't believe so. You see, I came out of the womb telling a joke about this women who thought she was having a baby when-"

"Never mind." She lays her head on the table. The cold durasteel doesn't quite help her growing headache. "You may go now," she says, waving an arm. He makes to go, but she hears him pause at the door.

"Ma'am, do you ever smile?"

She raises her head to look at him. She considers, for perhaps the hundredth time in knowing him, if she should check for head wounds. "What."

"Well, you asked me if I could be serious. To be fair and just, I have to ask an equally strange question of you." He is grinning.

"Really."

"Standard rule. And it was either that or asking what colour underwear you had on. But I thought you might hit me."

"How wise of you for restraining yourself."

"I thought so."

There is a brief silence, and he seems to be still waiting for an answer, so she says "Yes, I have been known to smile on occasion."

"Show me," he commands. When she hesitates, he adds "Is it 'cause you have really bad teeth?"

"Get out, Janson, before I remove a limb!"

He complies, but pauses again at the door. She groans and considers how she should plea.

He says, "You know, I could be serious. But then I'd be forced to kill you." She raises both eyebrows, watches him grin at her.

And she smiles.

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**Well?**


	4. Rob the Cradle

**Wow, my muse is really churning out these drabbles, eh? Don't worry, though. I'm working on TNQLL, but the chapter is turning out a little bit... longer than I thought.**

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**Well, I always thought that Leia's future as a Rebel leader was determined from very early on, and that Bail raised her as such. And since Bail's not alive to regret his decision… I thought that someone should for him. Enter Mon Mothma. I don't know about you, but I always thought she had a hand in Leia's political education. **

**Enjoy.**

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**Rob the Cradle**

She was younger then, all her morals still intact. They had all believed, believed that they could win, they would win. And so as she had followed Viceroy Organa down the halls of his palace she had _believed_. She had been convinced that he was leading her to the Rebellion's own personal goddess, their saviour.

He had lead her to a darkened nursery, its floor strew with toys. In the low light she could see a figure in the bed. And Bail had turned to her and said, "There, Mon, there's your Senator," and Leia Organa's future had rolled out in front of her like a carpet, as far as the eye could see.

But Mon Mothma had looked at the child with the dark braid, the child who had no business being anyone's saviour, anyone's leader. The child who was a child.

And she had said no. No, I don't want her. No, let her be whatever she wants, let her be a painter, a doctor, a dancer. Let her worry about scraped knees and not blaster wounds. No, Bail, I don't want your child, the Rebellion can wait.

This is when Mon Mothma wakes from her dream. And she remembers that she said yes, and that Leia is not a doctor or a dancer. Leia is a soldier.

And that is Mon Mothma's fault.

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**Well?**


	5. One Way Radio

**Howdy. Okay, I have writer's block on TNQLL, so I'm writing drabbles to cure it. Forgive me?**

…**Or don't.**

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**Yes, more Janson/Mothma. So this is during the battle of Hoth. I always wondered where Mon was during this… **

**Anyways, as always, seemed to turn out more serious than intended. Oh well.**

**Hope you like it.**

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**One-Way Radio**

They provided her with a live audio feed of the battle. Sort of.

The they was actually Rieekan, and the live feed was actually a hazy version of what was over the pilots' radios. But still. Something.

When she realized she was doing more listening than ordering, she thought that she should turn it off. But she didn't.

And when a cheer went up - the Rogues had brought down a Walker - she almost didn't wonder at the idea that the Princess was seemingly in love with Captain Solo. It was certainly an affecting thing to hear, that cheering.

(Another battle - "You're all clear, kid. Now let's blow this thing and go home" – and Leia's smile had rivalled stars.)

They pulled her away in the middle ("Commander, we've got to go"), but she knew they had lost anyways, she knew they'd lost a pilot. She wasn't sure which one.

She didn't check the list of the dead. She wasn't as brave as she liked to pretend.

She didn't even realize she'd already written him off as dead, not really, until she came across him leaning against the door of her temporary quarters. ("Miss me, ma'am?")

He was grinning. He was alive.

"Get off my door, Janson," she said. But once inside she had to lean against the wall, her knees made weak from relief.

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**Well?**


	6. Conventional Introduction

**Hiya! First, I just want to thank my reviewers. You guys are wonderful and I love you all to pieces. **

**As for this piece, well,**** Janson and Mothma had to have met sometime…**

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**Conventional Introduction**

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"_I saw sparks." (Coldplay)_

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"Hi. My name's Wes Janson."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you know, I figured that since we were stuck here together I might as well introduce myself."

"Really."

"Break the ice and such."

"I see."

-

(She imagines that the ice has been smashed completely. _Duck to avoid the shards_.)

-

"So… what's your name?"

"You mean you don't already know? I'm the Supreme Commander, for gods' sakes, how _don't_ you know my name?"

"Well, I knew it. I just thought that it would be a more conventional introduction if you said it yourself. A more familiar atmosphere, and all."

"We are surrounded by Imperials _and you're worried about introductions_!"

"I figured if you lived and I didn't there'd be someone to I.D. the body."

"Wonderful."

-

(He wonders if she means the idea of her living or him dieing. Or possibly both.)

-

"So… Mon, I can call you Mon, can't I– "

"No."

" – how'd you get involved in the Rebellion – "

"What kind of question is that?"

" – was it an abusive sister? Your pet mesk get killed by a drunken Storm trooper?"

"Why would an abusive sister drive me to Rebel against the Empire?"

"Actually, that's my excuse."

"What."

"You see, my fake sister – Agather – abused me _and _my pet mesk _and _she was a Storm Trooper. They capture me and that's my story."

"You do know females aren't allowed into the academy, don't you?"

"Obviously. The way I figure it is I'll get off on insanity."

"I don't think you're going to need the fake sister, Janson."

"Wait! – we're not on first name terms?"

"Wha- no!"

"If being trapped together in a dingy storage room with Imperials all around doesn't bring people on first name terms, what does?"

"Possibly death."

"Was that a threat?"

-

(She thinks Agather is a pretty name and then wonders if she is possibly going insane.)

-

"You remembered my name."

"What."

"Janson. You remembered my name was Janson."

"You only told me a moment ago!"

"You must have been really impressed by my piloting skills. You're probably planning on giving me a medal."

"Your piloting- You crashed!"

"I _was_ trying to rescue you. You could be more grateful."

"You were trying to res- my transport was about to pick me up!"

"Ah, they were amateurs."

"Your stupid ship exploded and blew them off course! We're going to die _because of you! _"

"Never say die."

-

(She wonders if its natural for a person to be so completely unconcerned.)

-

"So ma'am… how about we make a deal. I die, you I.D. me, you die, I I.D. you. Oh – is there anything you want me to tell your family?"

"Janson."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Don't talk to me."

"Well, if I don't talk to you then I'm going to have to talk to _them_." A pause. "The _voices_."

"Tell me you're joking."

"Aha – got you talking."

-

(A crash, and she can't see through the dust that used to be the wall.)

-

"Supreme Commander! Janson! Thank goodness you're alright."

"Princess? Is that you?"

"Yes, I'm – Han, I told you not to add so many explosives! You could have taken our heads off!"

"So sorry, Your Highnessness. Would you like to fly the ship too?"

"It'd probably come apart out of spite."

"So. This is what its like to be rescued."

"What now, Janson?"

"Nothing, ma'am. I've just never been rescued before. I need a moment to take it all in."

"We don't have a moment. Kid, go and make sure there are no more of them. Chewie, you set the coordinates. Princess-"

"Who died and made you head of this operation, Solo?"

"No one. Yet."

"Solo, so help me-"

"Princess, however did you find us?"

"Oh. Well, Luke felt something and -"

"It was luck!"

"No one asked you, Solo. And so we turned around and there you were. Well, there was the supply room, but anyways… Oh, I don't think you two have been properly introduced. Supreme Commander, this is Wes Janson, pilot of the-"

"We've met."

_-_

_"Yeah, I saw sparks." _

_-_

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**Well?**


	7. Trap

**What can I say? ...My muse has got the sillies today. **

**Seriously, I had intended to write a Rogue Squadron prank, and out came this.**

**Enjoy.**

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**Trap **

The Rogue Squadron was in the process of conducting a stakeout. A non-military stakeout, admittedly, but Janson had stressed its importance and they held their positions dutifully. However, when, at the half hour mark, someone had yet to cross their trap, Antilles wondered aloud if there was anyone in this section of the base at _all_. Hobbie questioned were they, in fact, still in said base?

For the past few minutes Hobbie and Antilles had been saying that the stakeout would be better held in a more public area, but Wes had maintained that the halls outside the Council Chambers simply must be the place and would they please shut-up? – they would give away the position. And so the Rogue Squadron waited, chalk in hands.

At long last and about time, their first victim rounded the corner. Wedge and Hobs exchanged a glance; surely the Supreme Commander wouldn't, would she? She was far too clever to fall for it…

Mon Mothma stopped at the edge of Janson's masterpiece. She cast a quick glace around, put down her papers, hiked up her Council robes and hopped, following the Rogue's Squadron's carefully drawn hopscotch template.

Wedge said to Hobs, "Maybe he picked this spot for a reason after all." And Janson said to no one "D'you reckon we should start up a tally?"

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**Well?**


End file.
